Free Deranged Marriage by Faith Bleasdale

like a response.
     
    From: [email protected]
    To: Holly Miller
    Subject: Response
    HOLLY WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?
     
    There were ten more messages. He asked if I was ill, he asked if I was being a bitch, then said he’d called me at home and I wasn’t there so he was presuming I wasn’t ill. It was all incredibly tiresome and I didn’t understand. All I could think was that rejection by Julia had left him feeling very insecure, and I was his only friend in this city, so I was the only person he had for reassurance. I felt guilty. I responded immediately saying that my mobile battery was flat last night and that I had been in a meeting all morning (it was only lunchtime). I was unsure why I was lying to placate him but it was the easiest thing to do. However, George wasn’t going to be so easily fobbed off. He replied with a huffy e-mail asking me why I was being so uncaring. I replied saying I did care. How he had tied me in knots was beyond me, but he had. He went quiet for a while, I guessed he was sulking but eventually another e-mail arrived saying that he would give me the benefit of the doubt and that he’d pick me up from my office as arranged. As much as I would have liked to try to make sense of his erratic behaviour, and discuss it with Freddie, I had work to do. I put George to the back of my mind.
    He was sitting in reception when finally I walked out at quarter past six. I knew he was there, but couldn’t quite get out on time. I ignored the funny look that the receptionist gave me as I took a deep breath and went to greet him.
    ‘You’re late,’ he said, thrusting a bunch of roses at me. Which did I address first, the accusation or the flowers?
    ‘Sorry, I had a last minute crisis. The flowers are lovely.’ I had no idea why he had given me roses, it set me on edge. George had never given me flowers in my life. And the anger, why the anger? I was beginning to tire of the situation, although I didn’t know what the situation was.
    ‘I’ve booked dinner at San Lorenzo,’ he announced.
    ‘Really?’ I was surprised, San Lorenzo was one of my favourite restaurants in the whole of London, but I rarely got taken there.
    ‘Come on, I don’t want to be late.’ He sounded terse. He took my arm, a little roughly, and started to lead me out. Then I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Freddie standing behind us.
    ‘Hi, I’m Freddie,’ he stuck a hand towards George.
    ‘He works with me,’ I explained. George took the outstretched hand and shook it.
    ‘I’d love to stop and chat,’ he said, sounding like he really wouldn’t, ‘but we’re late.’ I smiled weakly at Freddie as I followed George out.
    *
    George had always been in charge of our friendship. I firmly believe that in childhood friendships, someone is always in charge. George was the leader. He always decided what we were doing; I always agreed. I had become stronger and more independent after he left, more out of necessity than anything. Still, I found it hard in adult life to break the pattern, and even though we had been apart for five years and I was an intelligent independent woman, as soon as he came back I was thirteen again and following him around. Or that was what it felt like. Only this time I wasn’t so happy to be doing so.
    We sat in silence in the cab. I had no idea what to say and he just stared out of the window. Although he looked much better than he had the last time I saw him, he looked too unemotional; trancelike even. I tried to see the streets we were passing through his eyes, but all I could see were the streets through my eyes and my eyes were filled with Joe. I gave myself a mental jolt: stop thinking of yourself and try to think of George and his broken heart. No matter how hard I tried it all came back to San Lorenzo (not a restaurant for the broken-hearted), his rudeness to Freddie, and the fact that I was sitting in a taxi, clutching a bunch of roses, next to a stranger. A stranger I